Lose Yourself
by BossPotter
Summary: He goes to the battle, determined to show his true colors.


**Lose Yourself**

A/N–– To all the Christians out there, Happy Christmas!

To everyone else- Io Saturnalia!

It was cold and dark outside, but he forced himself on.

((Don't own Harry Potter. Unless you're willing to sell the rights that is, JK Rowling.))

* * *

There was no living soul in sight, only the dead and decaying bodies of friends, now gone. In the distance he could see blinking lights casting a morbidly festive glow on the dead. The celebrations of the ignorant were mocking him, he was sure of it. 

He walked through the yard of littered bodies, all staring blankly, all silent. Never again would their lips open and utter a calming word. Now they were blue and offered him nothing but silence as dark and cold as the night itself.

--

He couldn't even properly remember how he had gotten here. He could remember being informed of the battle happening and of being told that on no uncertain terms that he was not to make an appearance. So, logic would stand, that he shouldn't be here. How had he...?

_Crunch._

He looked down and felt his memory snap into place as he saw a familiar face. Her eyes were slightly blood-shot and her hair was burned, but he still recognized her.

_Hermione_.

Ah, yes. It was **her** fault that he was here. He had gone back to his flat to wait the battle out, he remembered now. Then **she **hadshown up in tears.

"_We'll be killed! We need all the help we can get! Please!"_ she had pleaded with him.

With a rehearsed ease, he had informed her that he would show up as soon as he possibly could, but that he really wasn't feeling well.

She had sobbed, naturally, since she knew that she was going to die. He forced himself to vomit to make the story more believable and she wiped her face and stood.

"_If we don't make it out of this, please don't feel badly. I know you're very ill, I shouldn't have asked._"

He had smiled at her sadly and helped her to the door. Without another word, he had shut and locked his flat up and moved to his bed to wait for his orders. The minutes ticked away so slowly that twice he had risen to fix his clock, only to find out that there was nothing wrong. Every moment was agony; all he could think of was poor Hermione who would die still thinking of him as her friend.

It took him over an hour to pluck up the nerve to go to the battle; screw his orders, if his friends were going to die, then he wanted them to die knowing what he truly was.

--

He stared down at her wasted face. Remembering why he had come was not nearly as helpful as he thought it might be. A feeling of guilt rushed over him and he felt the compulsion to hide himself from the dead eyes he knew so well, as if they were accusing him, saying _"It was you all along!"._

He reached for his mask with a trembling hand, trying his absolute hardest not to scream out that her corpse was right, that it _had_ been him all along. His fingers had not even clasped the cold plastic before he heard a weak voice call to him from near the forest.

"Neville..."

He spun around and saw the glinting of the lights off of metal.

Harry dragged himself forward, seemingly unable to use his legs. Neville's eyes were transfixed, wide in horror, as he stared at his classmate. The boy (or was he a man? Neville had never been sure.) was covered in blood and sweat mixed in with the filthiest of all muds. There was a long bloody scar on his neck that was bleeding freely. Neville felt sure that Harry would die within a few minutes without help

"Please...help...he's here..."

Neville turned on the spot as he hear a familiar high-pitched laughter behind him.

"You came anyway? Very well then Longbottom, mask on and finish off this nuisance."

Neville cringed as he heard Harry scream; Lord Voldemort had just kicked him in his bleeding neck.

"Neville..." Harry gasped from the ground, writhing in pain. "Do...right thing..."

"Longbottom! Finish him now!" Lord Voldemort said sharply, boring into Neville's eyes with an intensity unrivaled by any other man.

Taking a deep breath, Neville reached into his pocket and pulled on the mask.

"No..." Harry groaned.

"I'm sorry Harry." Neville said quietly. "The Dark Lord says that if I serve him, he'll save my parents. I'm sorry.

_Avada Kedavra!_"

* * *

I know this is wicked dark, especially for Christmas Day, but it's been on my mind since the 7th book title was released. 


End file.
